Most Bruce Campbell performances are campily self-aware, so My Name Is Bruce immediately seems redundant.
Disney’s song-and-dance robots make the transition from small to big screen in High School Musical 3: Senior Year.
The film’s commentary on vice and decency is far less immediate and realistic than its gritty aesthetic would have one believe.
Robert Davi makes his directorial debut with The Dukes, an indie crafted with considerably more heart than skill.
Homophobia in Muslim families and communities is a topic ripe for exploration, but I Can’t Think Straight isn’t the film to do it.
The film’s hyperactively effervescent portrait of ingrained social barriers and altruism’s ability to demolish them is genuine and sweet.
The film’s cinematography proves almost as inert as its star’s grimacing tough-guy routine.
The Oliver Stone of the 1990s might have found something epic in the strange saga of George W. Bush, but he undoubtedly would not have made W.
The film may not be Raiders of the Lost Ark, but it’s hardly Spielberg and Lucas raping your childhood hero.
The film is another of Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s chilling portraits of micro and macro alienation.
There’s a whole lotta healing in the film. Big Racial Issues too. And down-home heartwarming platitudes set to acoustic guitar ballads.
The sumptuous atmosphere and two spirited lead performances ultimately trump (if just barely) the storytelling deficiencies.
Like last year’s more dim-witted The Kingdom, Ridley Scott’s latest is first and foremost beholden to dull thriller conventions.
It’s nearly enough to make one wish for more Revolver. But not quite.
Le Deuxième Souffle may be second-tier Melville, but in terms of noir, that still makes it virtually second to none.
Everything is literally and figuratively black and white in The Express.
Le Doulos roots itself in traditional noir themes of providence, of loyalty and betrayal.
The film’s environment is so meticulously, thoroughly realized that it’s breathtakingly immersive.
No one rocks the trenchcoat and fedora-or beats a snitching woman cuffed to a radiator-quite like Jean-Paul Belmondo.
Annihilation and resurrection are the twin axes upon which The Wrestler turns.